I already found the most wonderful man in the world!!! Right here on Mingle2...Mutual Match - It Works!!! Just here for forums and friends. Changing Seasons by my man ♥ Summers heat and flames are cooling, final burst of pion, reflected in the leaves. Autumn's crisp breeze is tempered with warm embraces. Winter's frost by deep burning coals. Though seemingly hidden, burning hotter than before. Stay by my man ♥ Come closer to me, welcome to my heart. Feel the warmth of my body, my hand on your skin. Let me hold you close, feel your breath mixing with my own. Stay, sleep the sleep and dream the dreams that lovers share. Next Time by my man ♥ Were I to cup your cheek in hand, And closely bend my own near to enjoy your sweet caress. The temptation to return is great, unable I am to resist the hour's sweetness. Yet, wait I must til moonlight falls and the waves speak your name. Then will I allow that moment's madness to take me. And I another kiss. A Day Spent by my man ♥ Long Days Seem So Short Picnic Under Shady Tree Made For You And Me Summer Hours fly In The Arms Of A Lover Kisses, So Divine. No Moon light For Us No Waiting To Share Our Love No Hesitation Tender Is Your Kiss So Gentle Upon My Face My Kisses reply Quiet Now Is Night To rest with My Sweet Lover Morning Dawn, Anew. Oh That I Might Hold You by my man ♥ Oh that I might hold you tight in my embrace. Not waiting til evening comes For I have known, the fervor of your kiss, and the thrall of your touch. Bind unto me, with lip and limb and whisper, sweet whispers to my heart. Gentle as that morning breeze caressing over us both, I will hold you with me. And kiss you in the dawn. Monday Night by my man ♥ My house is empty, a chill has settled in. Nothing is different, Nothing is the same. The kitchen is over flowing, with food that has no flavor. No companion at my table, just conversations with my shadow. The music has gone flat, the coffee cold. Tuesday Night Moonlight spills through my window illuminating the shadowed room. Showing the emptiness, the quiet, the stillness. Along the same shore the leaves rustle with the foot fall. Breathing deeply, then a sigh Moonlit silhouette of woman alone, thinking of her lover. Nature's Children by my man ♥ Evening shadows have come to p, And so we recline in the embrace of starry darkness. No witness but all of creation, No sound but the forest and fields. We share our desires with the Universe above, and the Earth cradles us. Like Nature's own children we are, and unashamed. The breeze in the pines whisper to us, words we know not in our thoughts, but only in our dreams. Racy Poem by my man ♥ Sweet kisses and less than gentle bites, Caresses turned to hard delight. Restraint becomes freedom, control is lost. the line is transgressed, no matter the cost. The pull of desire to be taken, pushed beyond surrender. Rough and hard, turn to tender. Iris by my man ♥ Even one day if the iris are gone, I will think of you. Because they were there, and the thoughts of you remain inside me. Not uprooted by trials of time. Nor buried by winter's snow and cold. Forever blossoms in my mind, Your fragrance in my heart Whispers by my man ♥ Whispered words of Love, spoken in darkness, with pions flame the only light, Now in daylight's clearest sun, I speak them to you truly, boldly. No hiding , you can see them, feel them when I touch you, know them, day by day. Let them rest gently on your ear, and find their way into your heart. Let them comfort you when we are apart, wrap around you when you feel alone. Warm you if you feel cold. Let me see them in the smile on your lips. Shakespeare's Sonnet LVII Being your slave, what should I do but tend Upon the hours and times of your desire? I have no precious time at all to spend, Nor services to do, till you require. Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you, Nor think the bitterness of absence sour When you have bid your servant once adieu; Nor dare I question with my jealous thought Where you may be, or your affairs suppose, But, like a sad slave, stay and think of nought Save, where you are how happy you make those. So true a fool is love that in your will, Though you do any thing, he thinks no ill. Serenity by William Wordsworth THAT blessed mood, In which the burthen of the mystery, In which the heavy and the weary weight Of all this unintelligible world, Is lightened: - that serene and blessed mood In which the affections gently lead us on, - Until, the breath of this corporeal frame And even the motion of our human blood Almost suspended, we are laid asleep In body, and become a living soul; While with an eye made quiet by the power Of harmony, and the deep power of joy, We see into the life of things. Now Sleeps the Crimson Petal by Lord Alfred Tennyson Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white; Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk; Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font: The firefly wakens: waken thou with me. Now droops the milkwhite pea like a ghost, And like a ghost she glimmers on to me. Now lies the Earth all Danae to the stars, And all thy heart lies open unto me. Now slides the silent meteor on, and leaves A shining furrow, as thy thoughts in me. Now folds the lily all her sweetness up, And slips into the bosom of the lake: So fold thyself, my dearest, thou, and slip Into my bosom and be lost in me. Song To The Moon - Excerpt From Canto First Of Rockeby by Sir Walter Scott Hail to thy cold and clouded beam Pale pilgrim of the troubled sky! Hail, though the mists that o'er thee stream Lend to thy brow their sullen dye! How should thy pure and peaceful eye Untroubled view our scenes below, Or how a tearless beam supply To light a world of war and woe! Fair Queen! I will not blame thee now, As once by Greta's fairy side Each little cloud that dimm'd thy brow Did then an angel's beauty hide And of the shades I then could chide Still are the thoughts to memory dear For, while a softer strain I tried, They hid my blush, and calm'd my fear. Then did I swear thy ray serene Was form'd to light some lonely dell, By two fond lovers only seen, Reflected from the crystal well, Or sleeping on their mossy cell Or quivering on the lattice bright, Or glancing on their couch, to tell How swiftly wanes the summer night! Go, lovely Rose by Edmund Waller GO, lovely Rose— Tell her that wastes her time and me, That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be. Tell her that's young, And shuns to have her graces spied, That hadst thou sprung In deserts where no men abide, Thou must have uncommended died. Small is the worth Of beauty from the light retired: Bid her come forth, Suffer herself to be desired, And not blush so to be admired. Then die—that she The common fate of all things rare May read in thee; How small a part of time they share That are so wondrous sweet and fair! THERE BE NONE OF BEAUTY'S DAUGHTERS by Lord Byron There be none of Beauty's daughters With a magic like Thee; And like music on the waters Is thy sweet voice to me: When, as if its sound were causing The charméd ocean's pausing, The waves lie still and gleaming, And the lull'd winds seem dreaming: And the midnight moon is weaving Her bright chain o'er the deep, Whose is gently heaving As an infant's asleep: So the spirit bows before thee To listen and adore thee; With a full but soft emotion, Like the swell of Summer's ocean. Shakepeare's Sonnet XIV Not from the stars do I my judgment pluck; And yet methinks I have astronomy, But not to tell of good or evil luck, Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons' quality; Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell, Pointing to each his thunder, rain and wind, Or say with princes if it shall go well, By oft predict that I in heaven find: But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive, And, constant stars, in them I read such art As truth and beauty shall together thrive, If from thyself to store thou wouldst convert; Or else of thee this I prognosticate: Thy end is truth's and beauty's doom and date. Come Dawn by xmorethanasongx Rainbow butterflies Flutter in the wind Figments of my imagination Fading, fading so fast When night comes They rest their gossamery wings On beds of silk-spun loneliness Waiting for morning Unfurling, unfurling, come dawn Dark clouds of night Hide their shadows To blanket the land of surreal Soft petals of falling sanity Like rain on powder-blue days Chasing clouds of purple away Blood-red rose Bleeding away to white So slow, so slow Whispering lullaby Upon these five senses Rainbow butterflies Falling to the ground Come dawn, come dawn Awaken reality I Love Thee by Eliza Acton I love thee, as I love the calm Of sweet, star-lighted hours! I love thee, as I love the balm Of early jes'mine flow'rs. I love thee, as I love the last Rich smile of fading day, Which lingereth, like the look we cast, On rapture p'd away. I love thee as I love the tone Of some soft-breathing flute Whose soul is wak'd for me alone, When all beside is mute. I love thee as I love the first Young violet of the spring; Or the pale lily, April-nurs'd, To scented blossoming. I love thee, as I love the full, Clear gushings of the song, Which lonely--sad--and beautiful-- At night-fall floats along, Pour'd by the bul-bul forth to greet The hours of rest and dew; When melody and moonlight meet To blend their charm, and hue. I love thee, as the glad bird loves The freedom of its wing, On which delightedly it moves In wildest wandering. I love thee as I love the swell, And hush, of some low strain, Which bringeth, by its gentle spell, The past to life again. Such is the feeling which from thee Nought earthly can allure: 'Tis ever link'd to all I see Of gifted--high--and pure! Birds Of Page by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Black shadows fall From the lindens tall, That lift aloft their mive wall Against the southern sky; And from the realms Of the shadowy elms A tide-like darkness overwhelm The fields that round us lie. But the night is fair, And everywhere A warm, soft vapor fills the air, And distant sounds seem near; And above, in the light Of the star-lit night, Swift birds of page wing their flight Through the dewy atmosphere. I hear the beat Of their pinions fleet, As from the land of snow and sleet They seek a southern lea. I hear the cry Of their voices high Falling dreamily through the sky, But their forms I cannot see. Oh, say not so! Those sounds that flow In murmurs of delight and woe Come not from wings of birds. They are the throngs Of the poet's songs, Murmurs of pleasures, and pains, and wrongs, The sound of winged words. This is the cry Of souls, that high On toiling, beating pinions, fly, Seeking a warmer clime. From their distant flight Through realms of light It falls into our world of night, With the murmuring sound of rhyme. Under the Harvest Moon by Carl Sandburg Under the harvest moon, When the soft silver Drips shimmering Over the garden nights, Death, the gray mocker, Comes and whispers to you As a beautiful friend Who remembers. Under the summer roses When the flagrant crimson Lurks in the dusk Of the wild red leaves, Love, with little hands, Comes and touches you With a thousand memories, And asks you Beautiful, unanswerable questions